"Hotter than the devil's breath…"

Menu

Mind, Body and Soul

Ryan knelt before the altar, soaked through to the skin, a puddle forming around his knees. A little shiver rocked his body, hunched his shoulders. He hadn’t bothered to dress, had fled through the streets in his pyjamas and ended up here. Why choose a church? He wasn’t sure. There were candles burning in the windows. It looked inviting. It offered some shelter from the rain.

“I don’t know what to do,” he said, glancing up at the effigy of Christ, spread wide upon the cross. “I’m not even sure I still believe in you. Sorry. I haven’t been into a church in such a long time.”

Empty silence greeted his words. Some people said that they heard God talking to them when they prayed, but Ryan had never had that much faith. His mother had always brought him along to church when he was an infant, then as a teen he kept going because that was what you did. That was what his brothers did, his sisters, his aunts and uncles and grandparents.

He blinked back tears as he thought about them all. “What should I do? Aren’t you supposed to give me some sort of sign? Isn’t that how this works?”

The door creaked and there were footsteps behind. Ryan hunched lower, aware of how he must look, thin fabric clinging to every sharp edge of his body.

“Ryan.”

He felt his heartbeat quicken, pounding in his ears as he turned. Carl had thrown on his clothes from yesterday: baggy blue jeans, the white T-shirt that had lain crumpled on the bedroom floor. Rainwater dripped from his dark hair into his eyes and soaked the shoulders of his shirt.

“I was worried about you.”

“Sorry, it’s just…”

Carl nodded, placed a hand on his shoulder. “Ryan, it’s OK. I understand. This has all been a big adjustment for you.” He glanced around the inside of the church. “I don’t think you’re going to find any answers here though.”

“I know. I don’t know why I came.” He lowered his head towards Jesus, a reflex action that seemed somehow inappropriate, then took Carl’s hand and pulled himself up.

Carl made no attempt to hide it as his eyes roved over Ryan’s flesh. Beneath the soaked fabric every contour was obvious, every dark hair visible. Ryan felt his cock react, flinched as his chilled nipples rubbed against the sheer cotton.

“You’re frozen,” Carl said, his voice echoing, deep, sacred. “Come here.” He pulled Ryan close into his chest and guided him forward.

Ryan tucked himself into the warmth of Carl’s body and felt protected. He wrapped an arm around his waist, lay his head on his damp, firm, muscular shoulder. “I love you,” he whispered, and Carl stopped moving.

“That’s the first time you’ve said it.”

“It’s not the first time I’ve felt it.”

“Why did you run out like that?”

“A text message… from my mom. It doesn’t matter. I want you.”

Carl laughed. “This is hardly the place.”

Ryan didn’t hesitate. He turned, pressed himself against Carl’s muscular chest and leaned forward, their lips coming together in a kiss that felt like divine approval. As their mouths opened to each other, he caught the scent of sex still lingering on his lover’s skin, mixed with a dark cologne of midnight and exotic heat.

Carl’s hands reached up inside Ryan’s top, brushing the skin, lifting the wet fabric away and sweeping it over his head. They broke their kiss, both panting for breath, as the top was cast to the floor in a heap.

“Are you sure?”

“I need it,” Ryan whispered. “Please. I need you.”

The weight of Carl’s body as it pressed him up against the nearest pew was comforting, real, an anchor in the storm of Ryan’s mind. He tasted Carl’s hot breath, felt his rough fingers exploring his abdomen, his chest, then lower, slipping inside the waistband of his pants, stroking his length gently into life. As Carl’s already crumpled T-shirt was cast aside, Ryan allowed himself a moment to admire the perfectly chiselled pectorals that seemed to pull with their own energy, the abs that led the eye down, down, lower. He couldn’t resist, couldn’t hold out. He needed it now.

Swaying his hips to let his own pants fall to the floor, Ryan fumbled with the button on Carl’s jeans, tugged impatiently at the zipper until Carl’s red bikini briefs were all that stood between him and his goal. Carl laughed as Ryan traced a finger down those perfect abs, slipped his hand inside the briefs. The sound of Carl’s growl, somewhere between pain and pleasure, trapped inside the tight underpants, rang in Ryan’s ears.

He felt himself pushed back and down until he lay against the cool tiles, Carl above him, leaning forward, nibbling at his neck, rubbing his pelvis against the head of Ryan’s cock.

“Fuck…”

“That’s the plan.”

Ryan laughed and arched his back. “Take me.”

Carl knelt, took Ryan’s wrists, forced them above his head, grabbed both in one thick, strong hand while the other teased his shaft. A single fingertip ran along the underside, making Ryan gasp for breath, trying to writhe but pinned in place. His cock felt like it was trying to rip itself apart.

The candlelight danced in Carl’s eyes when he leaned forward for another kiss, his stomach flattening Ryan’s cock, then letting it free as he leaned back, only to begin again with the teasing, the swirling, the toying. Ryan knew that he was close, knew that he wouldn’t be able to hold back. He tried to speak, tried to warn Carl to stop, but it was too late. His cum shot in a white spray, hitting Carl in the chest, the stomach, as Ryan panted and moaned, bucking his hips as best he could beneath Carl’s solid weight.

Carl’s laugh was light, genuine. Again he kissed Ryan, then released him and sat back, casting about for his discarded clothes, heedless of the shiny trail of cum still drying on his skin.

Ryan took a ragged breath, lay still against the cool tiles, revelling in his nakedness, in what they had just done. Here, of all places. But then, hadn’t the priest always said that God is love? So then surely love – all love – was of God?

“I love you,” he whispered again and heard Carl laugh before his clothes landed on his softening penis.

“Get dressed.”

“I will. Do you have your phone?”

“Why?”

“Can I borrow it?”

Ryan took the phone and dialled his mother’s number, heard her answer weakly, blearily, ask who was there.

“It’s Ryan. Yes, it’s true.” His mother was silent. “I love him.”

There was a moment of hesitation, then a deep breath. “OK. Love you, honey. I’ll speak to you in the morning.”

I was inspired to write this story after reading Mischa Eliot’s Sizzling Nibble “Pay Up, Boy“. If you don’t already follow her, and you like a bit of all-male sexiness then check it out!